


Twist of the Knife

by moodiful819



Series: Tabula Rasa [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Angst and Feels, Blood, Character Death, Dark Magic, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Rituals, Shinigami, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 09:45:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8139514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodiful819/pseuds/moodiful819
Summary: The price of a life is high. Hatake Kakashi knows this better than anyone. [Kakasaku]





	

**Author's Note:**

> Prequel to "Tabula Rasa"

He supposed it should’ve been eerie.

Not the blood or carnage—he’d grown too used to a life surrounded by death—and there was no danger of the building collapsing on him as time had frozen around them. Surrounded by sparks, it was almost beautiful…

But the silence was chilling.

Kakashi fought to quell the shudder that threatened to wrack his bones as he stared at the man who was responsible for all this, the man who had crawled out of the air.

“Crawled” was the wrong word. Kakashi knew this, but it was hard to get his thoughts straight when he didn’t know what to think in the first place. He’d seen a lot of things in his years of service—he’d even died and came back—but nothing could’ve prepared him for what he’d seen that night.

It was supposed to be a routine reconnaissance mission, or as routine as A-rank missions could go. The aim was to investigate a nuke-nin hideout at the base of a mountain after a tip that they were going to assassinate a high-profile Konoha target. Kakashi had volunteered for the mission immediately, but no one was surprised. The target had been his wife, after all.

But what had started out as taking pictures in trees and listening to a bunch of men whine for three days straight soon escalated into more dire straits than he could’ve thought. In less than an hour, a fortified compound he’d spent two hours breaking into had been turned to rubble. The furniture–cheap, stained, and most likely salvaged or stolen–lay in various states of disrepair. That was no surprise. But chunks of the reinforced ceiling had snapped like chalk in the blast, littering the floor around his feet, and the building groaned in agony around them, rumbling as it shifted anxiously against the burden of its own weight.

He licked his lip, wetting his mouth as he tenderly clutched his side. He wheezed with every breath. He had split part of his lower lip and had broken at least one rib, but he’d fared much better than his enemies and could not help glancing at the mountain of flesh that had been trying to kill him earlier. Three men had been on top of him, taking the brunt of the blast when it occurred, and while the impact had still broken bone, _he_ was still in one piece.

But he was also alone. When he’d arrived, there had been fourteen other men to account for, but now he was the only one left. Two had died by his hand, nine were eviscerated by the blast, and two more were on their way out now. The air, already thick with the scent of copper from the blood painted on the floor for the ritual, was now unbearable and he could smell it seeping into every pore.

As for the leader…

Kakashi’s eye trailed to the shriveled husk with his maw open on the floor. It was not like the movies; he was not in danger of bursting into dust, but the slit he’d cut into his hand with the ornate summoning knife had pulled taut, widening the wound into a gash as his skin pulled tight against his bones. It looked as if someone had left him in the desert and forgotten him there. The only liquid that was left wasn’t even his, but the pulpy remains of a Nozomi lark, long thought to be extinct. Centuries ago, it had been famous for its colorful feathers, a baby-blue body no bigger than a chicken egg with red wings and a resplendent green crest.

But now those feathers were matted with its own bile and filth, and the only feather to have escaped the chaos was now soaking in a pool of its former owner’s blood.

First pocketing his hand, the mysterious figure bent down to retrieve the sullied feather and studied it before slowly turning his idle gaze onto Kakashi.

His first instinct had been to run. Though the man did not look threatening in the least, the fear slammed into his chest and choked him all the same. Pale and slightly taller than him, he was dressed in black from head to toe with gloved hands, a trench coat, and short unruly hair, and eyed him with the brutal contempt of a man who sees a solitary roach after an extermination, as if to say “Ah, I missed one.”

“Hatake Kakashi,” the man said calmly, flicking the feather aside. His voice was much deeper than the Konoha nin had imagined, and while it normally would not have been enough to unnerve him to hear an enemy call his name in battle, this was no ordinary person.

Out of the corner of his eye, Kakashi watched the languid movement of the stranger’s arm as he thumbed the object in his pocket, a single pearl dyed deep red, the repository for all of the leader’s fluids. And while he had always put little stock into the occult, Kakashi supposed he would now have to eat his words a bit.

The scene flickered again in his mind unbidden, small snippets lashing out like punches in the dark. The aches reverberated up and down his spine as he crawled up out of the rubble came first, then the oblivious gaze of the lark snuffed out by a hand and a sickening crunch. It had been hard to watch the leader’s death, no matter how satisfying the betrayal, but what had chilled him most was the figure’s entrance into the world.

The air had cracked. It was the only way he could think to describe the small fissure in the air. It was a small jagged line, a foot and a half long and two inches across at its widest point, but it didn’t take long for it to grow and the man in black to step easily through the break. It was as if he was entering a stage he’d been born to walk, but the description was too camp. The air skittered around him like a million cold-backed beetles, and the only reason he entered so easily was because his very presence seemed to burn away the very fabric of their world, the universe fleeing ever more desperately from his existence. Smog clung in smoky noxious tendrils to his clothes as he walked with slow, methodical steps. The faint smell of rot pervaded, and behind him, Kakashi caught a glimpse of the darkness he’d emerged from. Despite no distinguishing features, Kakashi recognized it instantly. He himself had been there once before.

“How do you know my name?” Kakashi asked warily, still eyeing the stranger as he reached into his kunai pouch. The man did not stop him as he brought the weapon out, even seeming amused by the silver-haired shinobi’s need for a tangible assurance of safety.

“I would not be a very effective shinigami if I didn’t,” he replied easily and looked the battered shinobi up and down with an appraising eye. “I’m impressed that you survived the blast. You may call me Shi.”

It was, by all standards, a godawful pun and a godawful name, but Kakashi held his tongue. It didn’t even matter. Shi had already diverted his attention, facing the broken screen of the computer with a vacant stare. It looked as if he were staring out of a window into a snowstorm, but it appeared he was merely biding his time, waiting for his next move, and the irony that Shi had frozen time just to kill it was not lost on him.

Kakashi shifted his grip on the sweat-soaked kunai handle. His throat felt scratchy and dry, and his nerves were raw from being set constantly on edge. This was the first time in years that fatigue bore down on him during a battle, and it pressed down on him as if the building itself was grinding into his back.

“You don’t have to do this,” the shinobi said lowly, but as soon as he’d gotten Shi’s attention, he’d lost it as something skittered from the floor onto the console.

With a wave of his hand, the shuddering shaking mass ordered itself under Shi’s palm, glowing as he ran his finger over the scrawls. It was a memo, Kakashi realized, though it looked like nothing he would recognize. He doubted he would though. The silver-haired man had the feeling it was something much older than either him or his kind, and he watched as Shi ran through the memo before gathering the characters in his hand.

“Not according to this,” Shi rumbled, crumpling the contents in his hand. A small light went off, flashing as if a supernova had detonated in his grasp. Ash sprinkled from his hand, but disappeared before ever hitting the floor. Shi’s pocket, Kakashi noticed, was empty.

“The payment has been accepted; the contract is valid. Now if you excuse me, I have someone to kill. Farewell,” he said curtly and turned to leave. As he walked toward the exit, Kakashi could feel time trickling back into the scene, heard it in the sliding supports and tired sighs of the sagging roof, roaring like ocean waves.

“Not so fast!”

It had felt like he was being torn apart.

His head hurt, lights continually flashing before his eyes like the flicker of explosions in the distance. Blood was rushing in his ear, his breath coming out in humid pants that suffocated him in his mask. He might have been bleeding from there. He didn’t know. Though he seemed perfectly fine on the outside, it felt as if all his cells had exploded and melted away, and his right hand trembled with exertion as he gripped Shi’s forearm. As for his other hand…

Kakashi drew in another breath, hissing sharply as his wrist burned under Shi’s gloved hand, a kunai lying forgotten on the floor.

“You shouldn’t be able to touch me…”

But the open look of surprise on the death dealer’s face was short-lived as he quickly grabbed Kakashi’s right arm, roughly pulling off the shinobi’s glove as he looked it over with a frantic hand. A blue light glowed from Shi’s glove, dim and quiet as if it’d stolen its power from a star, and it washed over his skin like a salve, lavishing him in winter’s cool when there was a pulse, and he jerked beside himself.

There, in the middle of his palm, was a small white dot he never remembered being there, glowing as bright as the sun. With sharp precision, Shi concentrated his attention to that point and Kakashi watched as the shinigami extracted the orb and unfurled it, a script unraveling over his hand.

As quickly as it appeared, it vanished with a wave of Shi’s hand.

“Your mother’s death was a mistake,” Shi said with a distastefully crinkled nose, though Kakashi could not tell whether it was from annoyance or confusion. Or maybe Shi simply hated mistakes, and he wondered how Death could make mistakes. “It appears we owe you a boon.”

His response was instantaneous. “Cancel the order on Sakura’s life.”

Shi shook his head, frowning. “It is impossible. The order has already been taken, and They cannot return payment after all of—” He gestured to the smears of organs on the walls and chunks of cement frozen in their plummet around them. “— _this_. Your boon is not so great.”

“Then I’ll make another contract.”

Again, the dark-haired man shook his head. “Even with the boon, you do not have sufficient funds to complete the transaction.”

“I’m giving you my life!” Kakashi roared, but again, Shi merely laughed and a wicked sneer spread across his face as he kicked the dried-up husk on the floor.

“ _He_ gave us his life. What you’re offering us is a _pittance!_ Each time I come out here, you stupid mortals never seem to understand the high price of dealing with us. You give us your life thinking it’s lives we want when we already have them. The fact that you throw it away so easily shows how little worth you already think it holds. No, the reason we took this gnat’s life is because he didn’t want to give it to us. Our services are not cheap. Whatever you don’t want to give up most is what we’ll take. No matter what, _the house always wins.”_

And for a while, it was quiet. Only the sound of Shi’s harsh panting lay between them, his anger live and pulsating like a dragon’s heart. A shower of sparks hung above his head, spitting and volatile, casting harsh shadows on the dark-haired man’s face and Kakashi waited until the hate died from Shi’s eyes.

Straightening his posture, hands at his sides, Kakashi spoke. “Then I offer up my memories. I offer up my memories as payment.”

When Shi did not respond, Kakashi took the opportunity to step closer, holding the shinigami’s gaze. “She means everything to me. Even you should know how valuable this is.”

He did, and the dry swallow that followed proved it. “You would honestly sacrifice your entire past and future with this woman to save her life?”

It was an empty question. Even before he’d finished speaking, Shi already knew the answer. Head held high, jaw firm, Kakashi did not turn his gaze, the spitting image of a will resolute.

“I would do anything for her.”

Stepping into the shadows, Shi deliberated in the darkness, a hand placed over his mouth as he thought. Frankly, it was a clever manipulation of the contract’s terms. Both of them knew Shi would not be able to do anything but honor the terms that bound him, but altering the intention from a physical death to a metaphorical one…

_Well, that was downright devious._

The smile that spread across Shi’s lips sent a cold shudder down Kakashi’s spine. “I accept,” he said imperiously and stepped forward, pointing to the space at his feet. “Kneel.”

Doing as he was told, he quietly settled onto the hard concrete. The cement biting into his joints, he placed his hands on his knees and idly thumbed an odd tear in the fabric. As he waited, Kakashi noticed that they were both framed by a jet of electrical sparks and stared into their glimmer. It was as if he were in the middle of a meteor shower, space tumbling around him and streaking their light as they plummeted past. He wished Sakura could see this.

“Will this kill me?” he asked, his eyes forward, an afterthought.

“No. Unfortunately for you, it won’t.” Above his head came the sound of the glove sliding off and for a moment, Kakashi debated whether or not to lift his gaze up from the floor to see it. He decided not to.

Shi’s voice was as calm and even, resonant as the heart of the forest as he spoke. “Gather your thoughts. Call forth your memories of her, and enjoy them while you can. It will be the last time you will ever be able to savor her image like this again.”

If Shi was aware of the slight variation in pitch as he spoke, neither man commented on it. Kakashi had more pressing things to worry about than the possibility of pity from an agent of death. Closing his eyes, he cleared his thoughts, pushing aside the events of the day, the questions of tomorrow as he focused on the rhythm of his breathing and the beating of his heart.

Falling deep inside himself, he began his search. It was as if he did not actually exist. The body outside of his mind seemed merely an illusion here, and he pressed the image of his wife to the forefront of his mind. Following the well-worn grooves of his heart, the memories began gathering with increasing speed and the images of smiles and angry, bitter arguments began to blur together. Even the emotions he’d felt in those instances were becoming difficult to pull apart and the annoyance, the anger and elation all bled together in an indiscernible soupy mess.

Shi’s warning weighed heavily upon him though. Hastily pushing the images aside, he continued on his quest, rifling through their past until he found it: his favorite memory.

It was, admittedly, an odd choice. If someone else were to see it, they would be understandably confused. He had overlooked their wedding, the first night they made love, and their first date after all, all the traditional milestones. Instead, his favorite memory was comfortably housed in the early stages of their relationship, and he let the memory he’d used many a night wash over him with a practiced ease.

They were in a training field. Sakura had gotten off work not too long ago and the sun was setting on a particularly hot day. Not in the mood for dinner just yet, they had decided to take a walk around Konoha. They had only been dating for a few months and had yet to go beyond simple kissing and hand-holding. They had just gotten to the top of a hill to watch the sunset on the horizon when the wind suddenly picked up. He’d leaned back to shield himself from the dust kicking up, but Sakura had laughingly leaned into the breeze, glad to have something other than the “oppressive muggy plague of nature’s armpit,” and the look on her face in that moment—kind, warm, serene—was the moment he knew that this was the woman he wanted by his side for the rest of their lives.

The nostalgia was short lived though as Shi placed a bony finger on Kakashi’s forehead.

The pain was instantaneous. Though he knew it was only a bit of pressure, no more than a light touch on the skin, the agony was overwhelming, molten and crippling as it seared through his nerves. His hands were fists balled tightly over the loose fabric of his pants. It hurt to breathe. He’d almost thrown up twice already, gagging loudly as his body struggled to stay still. It felt like someone was driving a hot needle into his body, and his knees writhed helplessly as tears gathered at his eyes. Desperate, he tried to hang on, tried to cling onto the memories that had helped him get through so many moments like this, but the needle was making quick work of them all, piercing and burning away the images until they were nothing but ghosts. Every moment he’d ever held dear was now gone, and even his favorite memory was now nothing more than the taste of white ash in his mouth.

The pinpoint of pressure leaving his head, Kakashi quickly slumped over on his side, feeling as dense and leaden as a collapsing star. As he watched his tearstains disappear in the concrete, there was the sound of an immolation—short and harsh—above his head before Shi stepped into view.

“It is over. The debt is repaid,” he stated quietly, and though Shi had not said anything about it, Kakashi knew the effects would be permanent the moment he lost consciousness.

Quietly, he concentrated on the last hazy blur of pink and green in his mind, even as it felt it slipping through his grasp.

“Will I remember any of this?” he asked.

“Only enough to give your supervisor a coherent report.”

He sucked in a trembling breath and felt his ribs act up. Felt it catch on his bones. He released it with a shudder. “Sakura…she’s safe?”

“It will be like today never happened,” he reassured.

Kakashi watched as Shi began his journey home. Once again, the rift appeared, the smell of decay and ozone flooding his nose once more. Behind him, the computer began to flicker as generators hummed to life and sparks rained onto him in bright, shivering bursts. The ceiling quaked and a deep rumbling sound rippled through the building as machinery tipped forward on their faces and Shi began stepping into the darkness.

The pink and green haze finally disappearing, Kakashi played with the vacant feeling swirling around his fingertips and stared at the cream-colored space it had left behind.

“Will I die here?”

“No, Kakashi.” And his voice lingered in the room long after he was gone. “You are destined to live a very long life.”

And then there was black.


End file.
